Even Heroes Fall
by unilocular
Summary: Tony pays the ultimate price to protect his friend. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Tim and Tony friendship. Angst.
**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.
**

 **Title:** Even Heroes Fall  
 **Summary:** Tony pays the ultimate price to protect his friend. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Tim and Tony friendship. Angst.  
 **Rating** : Teen for violence, language  
 **Spoilers/Warnings:** **MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.** General spoilers up to the end of season 13.

 **Author's Note:** _If you made it this far, please be aware. THIS IS A DEATH-FIC._ _  
_

 _I didn't want to write this one, but it wouldn't leave me alone. After watching the last few episodes, I'm not holding out much hope for the powers that be to give Tony DiNozzo a proper send-off. So I took it upon myself and well, this is what I came up with. To me, it feels fitting for the character._

 _And once again, I'm still on my quest to write a flash fiction piece under 1000 words. This one sits at 1100. So it's a failure in that respect only._

 _Hope you enjoy it, as much as you can. As always, any feedback and concrit is welcome._

 _-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The hands wrapped around Tim McGee's throat cut off any hope of breathing. He pushes up against the nasty, beady-eyed bastard shoving his back against the disgusting warehouse floor. Greyness stakes its claim on the edge of his vision, creeping in silently and carefully, almost unnoticed. Everything around him moves in stilted slow motion. He could live his entire life in the next moment.

It can only mean one thing. Death is coming.

This time, it isn't a tall, faceless man with a sickle, but a gangbanger with facial tattoos and a vacant, wall-eyed stare. When his attacker doubles down on his grip, he clenches his teeth.

Tim gags on his own spit.

He barely makes out the pop of gunshots over the pound of his heartbeat. They remind him that his partner is close, closer than he could ever hope. But still, worlds—and what is soon to be another lifetime—away.

"Tony," he tries to choke out, but it doesn't come as much more than a hysterical mash of syllables around what little air he had left.

The attacker snorts as though crushing another man's windpipe is hilarious.

Tim desperately tries to kick his attacker, but his muscles just won't obey. They listen just enough to send his hand searching through the dirt and grime for the gun he dropped moments ago. His fingertips just graze the cool metal and it plays hard to get, seeming to slide even further away.

But maybe it's Tim who is the one slipping into another place. His body is light enough to float up to the rafters and all the way to the stratosphere.

And suddenly, it doesn't matter. Nothing really does anymore.

His fight this morning with Delilah over some inane wedding detail. That omitted detail from a year-old report that let a murderer go free. Tony dropping the bomb that he accepted a new position halfway around the world. The gangbanger choking the life out of him.

Peace—at least that's what he thinks that it might be—comes for him, so foreign and strange. He has never experienced it before. But he is too afraid to chase it away because it may never come back again.

Tim's eyes fall closed, his movements cease. He stops fighting because it's far much work. He is damn tired and ready for sleep. After all these years, he has earned how wonderful he feels right now.

He lets himself melt into the feeling, lets himself stretch into the face of infinity.

At that moment, the crack of a gunshot echoes.

The pressure from Tim's throat is ripped away, just like his solace and salvation.

He rolls to his side, retching into the dirt and filth. The world crashes into him like tsunami, dragging him out to the open water in its undertow. Returning to life is more than he can stand. He tries to open his eyes, but the dying rays of the evening sun are too much for him to bear. He lies still, trying to even his breathing and get his heart back into a normal rhythm, trying to accept that he is still alive, still here.

A heavy weight lands next to him, but Tim is too exhausted to move.

There's a huff from someone that sounds like they're as tired of the world as Tim is. When a hand touches his shoulder, he wrests his body away.

"Easy, McGee, easy. It's just me." Tony DiNozzo carefully inflects every word.

"Tony?" Tim's voice cracks.

"Got the dirtbag, Tim. You're fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine." But Tony's tone tells Tim that it isn't.

Something warm laps at Tim's shoulder and he bolts upright. His eyes blur, the world tilting, twirling, before he manages to find where Tony is.

And he is right next to Tim, lying on his back with his hands pressed against his stomach. Blood oozes between his fingertips all over his starched white shirt and his perfect suit. It rolls across the dirty floor in rivers to where it pools by Tim's side. When Tim gasps, Tony just smiles with red-stained teeth.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Tony lies.

Instantly, Tim is on his knees to inspect the wound, but Tony grips his friend's hand. The blood burns through Tim's skin straight down to the bone.

Tim's body shakes involuntarily. Maybe it's because death forsook in favor of Tony and left Tim as a jilted lover. Or maybe it's that he just knows, deep down, how bad Tony's wound is. He has worked enough crime scenes to know that people who lose that much blood don't live to tell about it.

"I need to call a bus," Tim blurts out. "I need to get you help."

Tony's haggard eyes turn serious as he squeezes Tim's hands. "No, you…don't. I'm hit. Already dead. Stay with me…please." He laughs through the pain. "Who would…have thought..that…gangbanger was a…crackshot."

Tim tries to smile. "So were you. You took out that one who tried to kill me."

Tony bares his bloody teeth again. "Only…because…you distracted him…like a good Mc…Sidekick."

Tears prick to Tim's eyes. "You just keep telling yourself that I'm the sidekick."

"…always were, Probie."

Tony's body shudders as he struggles to breathe. His face has gone grey, his lips blue at the edges. Sweat pours down his cheeks, but he keeps a rock steady grip on Tim's hands. The younger man looks away, so Tony won't see the tears starting down his cheeks.

"…blood brothers," Tony murmurs.

Tim's eyebrows jump. "What?"

Tony's unsteady gaze wanders towards their bloodied hands. "We're…blood brothers now. So you have to…take…care…of my girls."

"I will, Tony. I'll raise them like they were my own – " Tim half-smiles, finding odd humor in the moment " – fish." He realizes how stupid it sounds, but he'll say anything to keep Tony here.

"And yourself…because no one else…will." Tony's eyes close. "I learned too late."

"Except you, right?" Tim forces a grin, trying to wake up his friend. "You always had my six."

"..and…you…mine. Blood brothers." Tony's lips curl as his features start to relax. "Time's up…Tim."

"Tony," Tim yelps. "Tony, stay with me. Wake up, DiNozzo! For the love of G-d, please wake up."

When Tony doesn't reply, Tim clutches his friend's hand desperately. Tony's eyebrows jump slightly, but he never opens his eyes again. Tim checks Tony's neck for a pulse. It's thready for a long time before there is nothing at all. Tim crumples forward and begs Tony to come back for one more case, one more prank, one more off the cuff movie reference, just one more anything.

But Tony is silent, still. Gone.

Tim stays there long into the night as Tony's body grows colder and colder, just staring at how content his friend appears to be. It's the first genuine emotion Tony ever shared.

Peace, solace, salvation, infinity are what is painted across Tony's slack features. Tim needs to believe that's what Tony feels right now.

Because after all these years, Tony is the one to deserve peace.


End file.
